Little Pieces of the Nothing That Fall
by heavendenied
Summary: It hadn’t started as a game, not for him. If game was even the right word for what it had become in the end. A sick, twisted and dangerous version of hide-and-seek. DARK FIC AaronTyler ReidTyler noncon character death


He hadn't wanted it.

Had never wanted it, him, never even _thought_ about it. But that didn't stop the little voice inside his head from whispering at all hours, '_But you could have stopped everything in a heartbeat…_' no matter how much he tried not to think about it.

They'd called it an accident. A loss of control. Aaron's car had been totaled; a jarring compression of metal and glass compacted into an unforgiving tree. They said he died on impact.

They said he felt no pain.

'They' also said the first stage of grief was denial, so that showed what little _they_ knew.

Tyler wished for that short respite, that belief that none of it was happening, that it was all just some big, cosmic joke. That he thought Aaron would stroll up, bruised and bloody but _breathing_, his eyes mocking the tears in Tyler's own as he sneered and called him a fucking pussy for this sick, clenching _grief_ and he'd shock the entire student body by kissing him before strangling him with his own two hands for scaring him, making him care.

He didn't feel denial.

Brutally, chillingly aware of every moment, every detail, as much as he wanted to deny it, _needed_ to deny it.

There was no such thing as a coincidence, not in their lives. Not as coldly, deeply furious as Reid had been. He'd seen Aaron's death reflected in his brother's eyes and had done nothing to stop it, too chickenshit to admit to his part in the games they'd played.

No, denial was the least of what he was feeling and the crash had been far from an accident.

_lon-don bridge is falling down, falling down, falling down…_

_..._

It hadn't started as a game, not for him. If game was even the right word for what it had become in the end. A sick, twisted and dangerous version of hide-and-seek.

_Ready or not, here I come.._

The first time, he'd been too shocked, humiliated, to stop him. To tell.

Not that there'd been much, that time, to tell.

...

He's running late again, fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt as Reid rolls his eyes and takes off after the older boys with a laughing, "Just learn to dress yourself, baby boy?" He ignores the comment with a roll of his own eyes though he isn't able to stop the flush that crawls up the back of his neck at the childhood nickname, which had sometime in the last year started meaning so much more.

A sudden shove from behind makes him stumble against the lockers, hands slamming into the cold metal painfully to keep from crashing into them. He turns, shocked, thinking he was alone in the locker room, to find Aaron's face only a few inches from his own.

The older boy is glaring, hectic color in his cheeks as he sneers and shoves Tyler hard back into lockers, hands gripping the loose material over his shoulders, straining his half-buttoned shirt. The back of his head bounces off the metal and he cries out before he can stop himself, blue eyes wide with pain and surprise.

Aaron's bigger body practically smothers his own, he's so close, Tyler suffocating under the heat, anger coming off of it. Chest to chest, hips to hips, that sneering mouth biting off words so close to his own he can almost taste them on his lips.

"You're pathetic. Following Garwin around like a lovesick puppy." He laughs at Tyler's expression, eyes dark, mean. "You thought no one could tell? Do you draw little hearts all over your notes like the little girl you are?"

His face twists, lip curling as he shoves away from the younger boy's body. Tyler's pulse is drumming sickly in his ears, body frozen in horror, but he can still hear the 'fucking disgusting,' that Aaron spits out as he turns and slams out of the locker room.

...

It's not long after that that Aaron is everywhere. There every time Tyler turns around, eyes always jeering, face mocking, making obscene gestures when no one else was looking, muttering 'fag' under his breath every time he passed him, shoved him into walls. Generally making his life hell even more than he had before.

He tells himself that its not like Aaron isn't still being his normal asshole self to the other guys, too, tells himself he's only imagining that it seems a little more _personal_ with him. Tells himself he doesn't tell, doesn't complain, because he's sick of being the weakest, the one they always feel that they have to protect. Sick of everyone else always sticking up for him when he can handle it on his own.

What Aaron's doing to him is nowhere near what Chase had done to Caleb and he's got no right to whine and cause more trouble when they're all still dealing with that.

That it isn't because he's terrified of Reid's reaction if it comes out what Aaron is taunting him about.

...

The second time Aaron catches him alone, he's too in shock over the wet tongue being thrust deeply into his mouth to worry about stopping him.

Tyler's far from stupid and it doesn't take more than Psych 101 for it to dawn that Aaron's been projecting but that doesn't stop the litany of '_why me?_' in his head as the older boy tightens his painful grip on Tyler's hair, making him cry out and allowing him to kiss him harder, deeper. He knows why, of course, that if Aaron is so disgusted over his own sexuality issues, he'd only let them out with someone he was easily able to dominate, have a hold over. Someone safe.

That doesn't make taking it any easier.

Neither does the snarled out, "Tell _anyone_ and you'll fucking regret it, freak," though he's known there was something odd about Abbot keeping quiet about how he felt for Reid, not when the information had that much potential to be permanently damaging to them.

At least now he knows why.

_then jack fell down and lost his crown, and jill came tumbling after_

_..._

He tells himself it's just kissing, that no one needs to know. It's not like its hurting him, not really. Fighting with Aaron led to tons more pain than putting up with his hard kisses, _always hard, punishing, punishing him for the desire Aaron feels_, the bruises his hands left from their grip on his neck, shoulder, hips.

And it's not hurting anyone else, either, so why make waves when that'll just make things worse?

But Aaron isn't satisfied with just kissing for long. Each time, his hands roam a little further, his insults, threats, get a little colder, and Tyler gets more and more scared.

By then, though, he's kissing back, so he can't tell, then, can he? It's not by force if he helps.

...

He's waiting in the Hummer for Reid, head resting against the back of the driver's seat as his fingers tap restlessly on the wheel. Doesn't feel like going out, watching his best friend find some girl, get laid.

The door opens and the body blocking the street light is big, too big, and for a moment, he thinks Pogue is sliding in but his heart beats in double time and he knows.

"Drive."

He swallows, mouth dry, eyes darting towards the dorms. "But Reid.."

"Are you _trying_ to piss me off?"

He drives.

Aaron gets him to pull off onto a side road, stop at a clearing out of sight from the road, and his hands are shaking as he turns the key to kill the engine. There's a loud buzzing in his ears and he's so fucking terrified of what the older boy has planned that there are grey dots swimming in front of his eyes until he remembers to breathe.

He's got all this power inside of him and he can't use it. There are a hundred and one reasons he's told himself he can't use it but right then, he can't remember even one.

Strong, hard fingers grip his chin and he tries to jerk away but Aaron hisses out a warning and he stills, feeling his pulse race under the bruising grip. "So fucking pretty," he sneers and Tyler flushes, eyes clenching tight, ashamed. It's his fault, it's all always his fault and he wishes he could figure out how, why, so he could stop doing whatever it was that sets him off.

Wishes he could make himself ugly to him, unattractive, even as something down deep warms at the thought he could _be_ wanted so badly. This badly.

Aaron doesn't want him, he reminds himself viciously as those now familiar lips smash down onto his own, he gets off on the power, the control he has over him. He just picked Tyler because he's safe, weak.

That thought keeps him from returning the kiss, giving in easily, though he'd long since gave up that battle. Fights it as long as he can but his body knows this by now, knows the pleasure gained by submitting to it and he can't stop it. Lips softening under Aaron's hard ones, allowing the hard fingers at his jaw to ease his mouth open for the older boy's tongue.

There are times, when they kiss, that he can pretend everything is normal, pretend it's any two people, anywhere, just enjoying each other. There are times when he feels something other than disgust, anger, from the other boy, when they let themselves just get lost in the act of it and not make it a silent battle.

Those times terrify him that much more.

When he feels the tremble in Aaron's hand as the older boy forces his head down, down, towards the open front of his slacks, Tyler tells himself it's disgust that makes it shake. Nervousness, fear of this next step, like the kind pressing at the back of his throat, would make Aaron human.

And if Aaron were only human, he should be able to stop him, stop this.

Later, on his knees on Nicky's dirty bathroom floor with a finger down his throat and tears streaming down his face, he told himself it was the taste of Aaron in his mouth that made him sick. Not the fact that he'd gotten hard doing it.

Not the condescending pat on the head he'd gotten after Aaron was through, the smirk, the "Bet your boyfriend would _love_ to see you now, pretty mouth fucked and used. You think I should tell him how much you liked it?"

He tries to forget all that. It's not force if he likes it.

...

He's on his knees a lot after that and he has to make up a lot of fights to explain away his bruised lips, the bruises on his cheeks from where Aaron holds him still to fuck his mouth. He makes up a lot of shit lately to explain away a lot of .. well, shit.

Like why he's never around anymore, why he never talks.

Why he doesn't like to be touched, because his mouth couldn't be enough for Aaron forever, why he flinches when Reid calls him 'baby boy' because he had to go and ruin that, too.

_and when the bough breaks, the cradle will fall…_

_..._

Considering how rough and harsh everything else is, the actual sex is surprisingly gentle.

Not that it doesn't hurt like fuck, leaving him raw and aching, sore for days, but it could have been so much worse. Aaron doesn't know what he's doing any more than Tyler, which makes everything awkward and even more terrifying, painful, but the touches aren't hard, rough, and the kisses are soft, almost apologetic as he bites hard into his bottom lip to keep from crying out.

Not apologetic enough to stop, though, even as he chants out soft, broken 'no's under his hitching breath, fingers clenching tight in the soft, curling hair.

Something dark gleaming in the eyes above him, an almost flinch at every almost silent protest, until Aaron snaps, voice bitter, cracking, even in the throaty growl of pleasure. "If you didn't want it, _baby boy_, you wouldn't be here. If you didn't want me, you wouldn't be hard. But if it'll make you feel better..."

He doesn't fight the grip pinning down his wrists to the bed until the moment he comes, but the bruises remain for days.

The ones on the outside fade long before the ones hidden away.

...

He knows they're suspicious, that they know something is going on, but it's not about them anymore. He lost sight of his reasons for not telling, not asking for help, somewhere along the line.

None of it makes any sense anymore and he tries not to think about it. How easy it would have been in the beginning to stop it, how impossible it is now.

He's ice cold, disconnected, disillusioned. Nothing matters.

Fucked and fucked up, fucked over.

Nothing _feels_ the same anymore, like he's looking, hearing, feeling his way through a layer of cotton. Walking, talking, laughing but not there, watching himself from the outside in.

Doesn't feel unless Aaron is making him feel, doesn't hear anything but the words he speaks, sees nothing but him when he's around. Hyper-aware, versus shut off and shut down.

There's no rage in him, no hate. No fear.

Because he's the one who goes to him, now. He's the one who asks for it, the one who needs it to feel something. Anything.

And of course its not rape if you want it. It's not rape if they're in love with you.

...

No rage, no hate, no fear.

Until the night Reid walks in on them and he is nothing _but_ cold, sickening fear.

It was bound to happen, nothing remains a secret forever and with each week they had grown more and more careless, each lost in their own private hells, fighting with their own demons. Maybe it was on purpose, maybe they wanted to end it but wouldn't, couldn't. Didn't know how.

There wasn't any other reason for them to be there, in Tyler's bed, his and Reid's room, with only a crapshoot, 50/50 chance that Reid wouldn't be back till dawn.

Later, years later at night when he's wrapped up in Reid's arms, he'll wrack his brain trying to remember whose idea it had been, who'd initiated that night, which of them had protested the place, the time, if either of them had, because it would seem so important. But all he will remember, all he will see, is Reid's face.

_ashes, ashes, we all fall down_

_..._

Their clothes are half on, half off, Aaron still mostly in uniform, Tyler's t-shirt rucked up over his back, sweats yanked halfway down his thighs. He's on his knees, wrists over his head and pinned to the tangled sheets, _because that's the only way he can come now_, Aaron balls deep inside, when Reid walks in.

It's not surprising the blonde gets the wrong picture, with the reddened splotches along his bare skin from Aaron's rough hands, mouth, with the stricken, helpless look on Tyler's face, the frozen blankness turning to a horrified pleading as his eyes caught his best friend's. The guilty, shaken look on Aaron's ashen face before he pulled out and shoved Tyler away onto the bed, fixing his pants and slipping from the room with a cracking sneer before either of them recovered from the shock.

_It's years before he's able to see that Reid might not have gotten the wrong picture at all._

Years before he's able to rid himself of the wracking guilt.

Of what he could have said, should have said.

...

_"How long? Answer me, Tyler, how fucking long!"_

He'd been so far past in shock that the words had made little more than a buzzing in his ears but he'd been able to answer, though it might have been better if he hadn't. Body wracking with shudders, sick with shame, fear, as he tried to cover back up.

Reid's hands shaking with something altogether different as he helped.

_"November."_

Four months. He wasn't so out of touch that he'd been counting the days, hours, since Aaron had pinned him up against the lockers but he did remember the month.

Wished he hadn't when he glanced up and saw Hell in Reid's eyes. Shaking fingertips brushed back the hair from his tear-streaked face and he reached up and gripped Reid's hand, needing his touch for the first time in months.

The ice surrounding him starting to crack.

So much he could have, should have said. Coulda stopped him. Coulda told. But he hadn't.

Unable to so much as open his mouth as he watched his brother turn and walk back out the door.

_and all the King's horses and all the King's men…_


End file.
